Oh I love this! Thanks for sharing. Yet again!

Helen
----- Original Message ----- 
From: "steve doyle" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
To: <[email protected]>
Sent: Sunday, June 29, 2008 7:43 AM
Subject: [RecipesAndMore] S - H - M - I - L - Y


S - H - M - I - L - Y

My grandparents were married for over half a century, and played their own 
special game from the time they had met each other. The goal of their game 
was to write the word "shmily" in a surprise place for the other to find. 
They took turns leaving "shmily" around the house, and as soon as one of 
them discovered it, it was their turn to hide it once more.

They dragged "shmily" with their fingers through the sugar and flour 
containers to await whoever was preparing the next meal. They smeared it in 
the dew on the windows overlooking the patio where my grandma always fed us 
warm, homemade pudding with blue food coloring. "Shmily" was written in the 
steam left on the mirror after a hot shower, where it would reappear bath 
after bath. At one point, my grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of 
toilet paper to leave "shmily" on the very last sheet. There was no end to 
the places "shmily" would pop up. Little notes with "shmily" scribbled 
hurriedly were found on dashboards and car seats, or taped to steering 
wheels.

The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows. "Shmily" was 
written in the dust upon the mantel and traced in the ashes of the 
fireplace. This mysterious word was as much a part of my grandparents' house 
as the furniture. It took me a long time before I was able to fully 
appreciate my grandparents' game. Skepticism has kept me from believing in 
true love, one that is pure and enduring.

However, I never doubted my grandparents' relationship. They had love down 
pat. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life.

Their relationship was based on a devotion and passionate affection which 
not everyone is lucky to experience. Grandma and Grandpa held hands every 
chance they could. They stole kisses as they bumped into each other in their 
tiny kitchen. They finished each other's sentences and shared the daily 
crossword puzzle and word jumble. My grandma whispered to me about how cute 
my grandpa was, how handsome and old he had grown to be. She claimed that 
she really knew "how to pick 'em."

Before every meal they bowed their heads and gave thanks, marveling at their 
blessings: a wonderful family, good fortune, and each other.

But there was a dark cloud in my grandparents' life: my grandmother had 
breast cancer. The disease had first appeared ten years earlier.

As always, Grandpa was with her every step of the way. He comforted her in 
their yellow room, painted that way so that she could always be surrounded 
by sunshine, even when she was too sick to go outside.

Now the cancer was again attacking her body. With the help of a cane and my 
grandfather' s steady hand, they went to church every morning.

But my grandmother grew steadily weaker until, finally, she could not leave 
the house anymore. For a while, Grandpa would go to church alone, praying to 
God to watch over his wife.

Then one day, what we all dreaded finally happened. Grandma was gone. 
"Shmily." It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my grandmother' s 
funeral bouquet. As the crowd thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, 
my aunts, uncles, cousins and other family members came forward and gathered 
around Grandma one last time.

Grandpa stepped up to my grandmother' s casket and, taking a shaky breath, 
he began to sing to her. Through his tears and grief, the song came, a deep 
and throaty lullaby. Shaking with my own sorrow, I will never forget that 
moment. For I knew that, although I couldn't begin to fathom the depth of 
their love, I had been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty.

S-h-m-i-l-y: means See How Much I Love You.

A single candle can illuminate an entire room. A true friend lights up
an entire lifetime. Thanks for the bright lights of your friendship.



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